“I’ll have you know that our chef Ricky came in third in the regional chilli cook-off,” I say, trying to break the tension.
It works. She laughs and the sun comes back out. “Third, huh? He must be popular with your friends. Joanie said something about you being in a motorcycle club now too?”
“Yeah. They’re good friends. Good men.” The Lost Souls based ourselves in Lonesome because that is where we hit critical mass. A bunch of us left the military at the same time. Some were from Lonesome originally. Others, like me and Mason, came to visit and never left. We were the core group.Later, our member numbers grew as others heard about us and came to check us out. It’s easy for people to drift when they don’t have a home. That’s why we formed the Lost Souls: to give people somewhere they wanted to come back to. “Lonesome is a great place to ride. We’re about a day’s ride from the Rockies. Gorgeous scenery. Or head in the other direction for a thousand miles of flat road that’s perfect for cruising.”
“That was almost poetic.”
“A biker poet, that’s me.”
The beach is crowded with Tropical Wave passengers, so I’m not surprised to see some familiar faces. I’m keeping my eyes open for Bob but spot someone else instead.
Marcus Melbourne is walking a senior lady to a set of beach chairs arranged under an umbrella. He settles her, then heads our way. He stares at our shirts. “I didn’t realize that you two were the ones getting married. Congratulations.”
Melissa’s eyes spark and she looks ready to say something about our wedding, but for some reason, I want to keep the details to ourselves for now. “Thank you,” I say.
“Melissa, I’m looking forward to having your penne a la vodka again soon. I’m going to be travelling to Chicago often this spring.”
“I’m between contracts at the moment but if you follow my social media feeds, I’ll post an announcement when I’ve found a permanent place to land,” she says.
His eyes widen slightly. It’s a small tell but I can see that something Melissa said surprised him. “I understand Bob and Paula Overbridge are on this cruise. Have you?—”
“Yes, they are. No, we have no clue where they are. And we don’t care,” I say. I’m not going to let Paula cause another scene. I don’t think I could keep Mel off her again, and I don’t know how to post bail in a foreign country.
“Of course. I won’t disturb your honeymoon. The ship’s not that big. I’ll find them. Enjoy the beach.”
“Okay, who the fuck is that guy?” I ask. He hadn’t hit on Melissa in any way, but he wasn’t blind. I saw the way he looked at her. “What kind of investor is he?”
“The billionaire, venture capitalist kind. He owns the building that Martinique is in. Hell, he owns the whole block. Marcus has homes in Chicago, New York, Los Angeles, and somewhere in Europe, I think. And it’s not just real estate. He has his fingers in all sorts of pies. He offered me a private chef position once, but at the time, I was happy where I was.”
That sounds fine until I remember that she’s not happy and no longer employed. Marcus may have left her alone while we’re on our “honeymoon”, but I’d bet my bike that he’s put contacting Melissa again at the top of his to-do list once he’s back at work.
That’s her business. Drink duty is mine. I take everybody’s orders and head to the nearby beach bar. “Motherfucker,” I say under my breath. Bob is sitting on a stool near the ice machine, pretending that he doesn’t see his wife chewing out a waitress at the other end of the bar.
When he spots me, he starts to stand, but I signal him to stay where he is. I give my order to the bartender, then turn to Bob. “What do you want, Overbridge?”
“I need to talk to Mel about the restaurant.”
“As she told the other guy, she’s on vacation. No business talk allowed. Besides, you fired her, remember.”
Bob isn’t deterred. “That was Paula, not me. I want to offer Melissa a new contract.”
I laugh in his face. “Have you met your ex-wife? She’ll never work for you again. Not only did you fuck her professionally, but you also cheated on her. She is done with you.”
“I’ll make it worth her while.”
“I’m sure I speak for Melissa when I say, “Fuck off, Bob.” Leave her alone.” I point at his wife, who has roped another bar employee into her tirade. “I think your wife is about to call the manager.” The bartender pushes four bottles my way, and I hand over enough to cover them and leave a good tip. “Bye, Bob.”
When I get back to the towels, I find Melissa digging through her beach bag. She looks at the empty water bottle in her hand, and then at the full beer in mine. “You’re a lifesaver. I’m so thirsty. I swear that I’ve forgotten what the sun feels like.”
“You and me both,” I agree.
“You must be dying to get back on your bike. Are you sure you don’t want to find a rental place this afternoon?”
“We’re only here for another hour or two. It’s not worth it.” I almost mean it, although being here is kind of tortuous knowing I have to go back home to snow.
“We should enjoy it then. Lotion me up?” Mel asks. She whips off her T-shirt to reveal a black bikini top.
The woman is trying to kill me. “Happily. You know that I love your pink bits. But you should keep those ones undercover.” I dig out a tube of suntan lotion. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you shower this all off later.”
